I don't get sick very often, but when I do, it's pretty bad. It was so bad yesterday, in fact, that I called my doctor's office around 4:10--not a good thing on a Friday afternoon. I've been coughing for several days, and I was afraid that I had gotten the same thing that Emily had (pneumonia), and if that was the case, I wanted medicine pronto so I didn't have to deal with a substitute for school. I also thought it was suspicious that I had the same symptoms that Emily had about ten days after she did. I showed up at I.C. (Wichita Clinic) at 5:15 and I didn't get out until 7:15 and home at 7:30.
I will never go to Immediate Care again.
I waited 30 minutes before a nurse saw me to take down my symptoms (I had a low-grade fever, my blood pressure was up and my pulse was 93--bp and pulse too high), then I had to go back out to the lobby to wait another 15 minutes. In the meantime, as I'm just trying to hold onto myself because I want to lay down so badly, two very large ladies come into the waiting room. One is in a very large wheelchair, and the other lady wheels her right in front of me and blocks the exit in case the nurse should call on people. We'd have to go around the long way. Okay, no big deal--I'd just work through it and go out the long way, hoping I don't faint along the way, thinking the whole time, why can't she see where she is? Cell-phone guy is chatting away on his phone, and I want to take it and smash it against the wall. But I didn't have the energy to do that. Finally they call me back. I wait and wait and wait.
And then the doctor comes in, and after talking to him, I wished that I had just over-dosed on NyQuil and called it a night. The guy was the three-letter word for butt.
He asked me why I thought I had pneumonia. I told him because my daughter had it and I thought it was contagious. He looked at me funny, and then berated me for being around kids if I thought I had a contagious disease. I told him that I didn't know what I had and I was just run down. Then he told me that pneumonia wasn't contagious. He said a few more things that I just can't remember. He listened to my back and made me breathe, and then he said my lungs sounded fine. Why couldn't he just tell me that I probably had caught a virus and I needed rest, water and Tylenol? Instead, he ordered a blood draw and a chest x-ray.
Blood draw. Oh boy. I'm not usually nervous about a needle, and I wasn't this time either. Apparently my veins are super small, and the nurse stuck me hard, and then wiggled the needle. That's when the world starting going gray. I asked for a drink of water. He said that I could have one, of course, and then he dug into my arm some more. I told him that that hurt (holy cow, that was awful!), and then he called over another nurse to try to "stick" me. I asked for the water again, and my speech sounded like it was slurring. I got the water, but the grayness was thicker, and I bent down to put my head on my lap. The other nurse asked me if I needed to lay down, and I nodded. They had to get me on the cold floor before I fainted. The doctor who saw me came by and gave the nurses a chair to put my feet on to get the blood flowing back to my head, and then they gave me cold presses to put behind my neck and my forehead. After about five minutes of that, a nurse brought a wheelchair to get me to a room (that another nurse had given away to another patient), and they had to find another room. They did, and I had to lay there for ten minutes before I could get blood drawn.
I was freezing, btw. Absolutely shivering. Finally the nurse came in, took my blood. She was very nice. I told her that the world wasn't gray anymore, and she worked her best to get the needle into my vein. She said I had extremely small veins, but bless her heart, she didn't hurt me like the other nurse did. After she was finished, she made me lay down for awhile, and then the x-ray technician came in to get me and escort me to x-ray. After that was finished, bless the x-ray technician's heart--SHE got me a blanket.
Then the doctor came in. His demeanor seemed to have changed a bit. He told me that my chest was clear, but my white blood cell count was too high or too low--whichever direction is the bad direction (I just can't remember). He said that I had a virile infection and there was nothing that he could prescribe for me. Just rest, water and Tylenol.
Sooooooooooooooooo -- two hours later, I was back at square one. He did ask me if I was okay to drive home. I felt I was. And when I got home, Dale and Emily were in her room waiting for her to say prayers. I got home in time for that. I hugged Emily's legs ( :) ) and told her that I didn't want to give her my germs. I told Dale the whole story, and he got angry for me. He wants me to write a letter of complaint to Wichita Clinic. I had forgotten about one of the times we took Emily and we told that doctor (different one) that she was allergic to amoxycillin and she prescribed it anyway. We spent $60 on medication that we didn't need. I did take two Tylenol PM last night and slept until 8 a.m. this morning, so I think that helped. I probably will write the letter, but I feel like I need a nap after I've written all of this.